


Polaroids

by AnalystProductions



Series: Pictures [2]
Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi, PICTURES PROMPTS AND STUFF, ayyyyy it's the inventor squad are you ready ahhh, small little pieces for the pictures universe B)c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnalystProductions/pseuds/AnalystProductions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, prompts and small pieces for the lives of Quillsh Wammy, L Lawliet and the Inventors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cotton Candy

**Author's Note:**

> so the first part of the series is called "Pictures at an exhibition". The next part which deals with pre-L "The Early Years" is coming soon. In the meantime here's "polaroids".
> 
> This will be a continuous stream of random drabbles and prompts in the verse. I'll probably do this a few times a week!! I called it Polaroids because these are like very small snapshots of moments in the universe. I liked the idea of having short snappy moments against the rest of the writing.
> 
> Hope you enjoy 'Polaroids'! 
> 
> First up is a 3-sentence prompt I got on "Cotton Candy", focusing around Trevor and Nancy! (Though i've stretched it out a tad!)

_**4th March, 1971** _  
_**Guildford, England** _

Nancy Moore likes to wear yellow; for as long as Trevor remembers it’s been her favourite. Be it the pale yellow of primroses, the warm tones of daffodils in the Springtime, or bright sunflowers - yellow is her signature colour. 

Today, however, she’s wearing a pastel pink skirt with a puffy blazer that’s nothing short of bizarre. It hangs entirely unfamiliarly on her frame; she looks like a concoction of multiple eccentricities. Yet still, it is positively enchanting. In this moment, Trevor thinks she could well be the embodiment of every Inventor. Whimsical, quirky and fearless.

“Cotton candy.” Trevor nudges her with his elbow playfully as he approaches her. His eyes are gleaming with admiration, despite the teasing. “Is this a new version of Smartefact where one has to also  _be_ the object?" 

At the remark, Nancy laughs. It's a melodious sound, always has been. If Trevor had the means to transcribe it for piano and do it justice, he would. Some things, however, are outside of _any_ inventor's capabilities. And that the best part, really. Because accepting that there are exquisite things in nature which man can never replicate is one of the first stages to understanding the components of true innovation. 

"Must you always be so notoriously frivolous, dear chap?" smiling, Nancy links her arm in his as they walk through the park. "It's exceptionally _improper_ to liken a lady to a popular treat, you know."

"I did no such thing, Nancy." Trevor cheerfully sits on one of the swings in the empty playground they've stumbled upon. His legs swing out in front of him, revealing the beginnings of his white knee-high socks that are so typically Trevor. Taking the swing beside him, Nancy waits for him to elaborate patiently. 

"It was your _image_ that sparked the idea. As a fellow inventor, you understand." Trevor starts to swing, building momentum. He raises his voice so he can still be heard. It sounds like an ecstatic, hyperbolic declaration.

"Ideas rush through the very current of our blood, Nancy!!" He releases a hand on the swing to try and gesticulate his enthusiasm. As a result his balance wavers. Nancy laughs, catching up with him on her own swing. "Why, they can form lattices stronger than steel in the mind's eye."

"Ha!" Nancy suddenly comes to a halt. There's a satisfied glint in her eyes. Leaping off the swing with less finesse than planned, Trevor looks over to her curiously. She knows. Of course she does. And he  _knows_ she knows and by gosh. It's terribly funny. He can hardly suppress the laughter tickling his ribcage. 

"Pray tell, whatever can be so amusing about the  _electricity_ of-"  

"-Pylons. I win." Folding her arms across her chest, Nancy lifts her head up proudly. Just a fraction. Trevor's expression is nothing short of delight, confirmation she's figured it out and is right. Victorious, Nancy pulls out the golden notepad in her blazer pocket, amending the tally score. Leaning over to read, Trevor's fingers smudge the ink. It's a messy series of scribbles, so contrasting to her usual elegant work. 

"Quillsh is still in the lead by seven, good lad." he observes.  

They sit on the swings for the rest of the afternoon, discussing their latest projects against the backdrop of the setting sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao Trevor, you can't out-smartefact Nancy, she's always onto you! OH OH OH YEAH. Speaking for Smartefact, this may not make sense unless you have read THIS post: 
> 
> http://smartefact.tumblr.com/post/144816744898/but-iz-i-want-to-hear-more-about-watari-and-the
> 
> And I now have a blog for all of this. It's called "Smartefact" on tumblr. It has lots of headcanons, aes posts and information all about the Inventors Squad :D


	2. Avant Garde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L Lawliet has recently turned fifteen years old when Trevor takes him to the Tate Modern Art Gallery. A belated birthday present of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically Ceili and I were talking about the Inventor Squad after that article came out about a pair of glasses on the ground being mistaken for art and just thought "....L would do this. Trevor would be in hysterics." So here it is!

_**9th November, 1994  
** **Tate Modern, Southbank, London** _

Trevor Halloway loves nothing more than impromptu day trips. With little warning, he’ll arrange excursions for Nancy, Quillsh, and in the days when things were simpler Harold, on days out. Of course, the minute L Lawliet enters the frame, he becomes part of it. L seeps into his world so seamlessly. And in turn, Trevor shapes the edges of L’s. It’s no surprise then, that the pair of them often take trips together without the others. The first time, Trevor begins tells Quillsh it’s for his sake, to keep the bustling chaotic genius occupied and allow him respite. Of course, Quillsh knows better, knows _Trevor_ better. The poor excuse barely holds. And from then on, no explanations are ever given.   

Their outings are never a consistent, routine thing. Trevor’s too spontaneous and unfocused on planning to make it so, and the ever-growing workload of the World's Greatest Detective would merely lead to constant cancellations and rescheduling anyway. So the set-up is perfect, really.

L Lawliet has recently turned fifteen years old when Trevor takes him to the Tate Modern Art Gallery. A belated birthday present of sorts. The young detective is in disguise, dressed as one of his favourite personas. Firo Marielli, the Italian exchange student obsessed with architecture and perpetually stressed by the toils of studying. The impudent qualities of his character manifest far more in Firo. There’s almost always amusement painted on his face. And the wig looks much better than it used to. Nancy had huffed exasperatedly the first time L tried to walk out in it. Hands firmly planted on his shoulders, she had marched him back to the room and spent over an hour fixing his hair.

Now, Trevor often forgets it's even a wig. The brown hair shapes Lawliet's face very differently to his usual dark curls. Despite age, L’s face has always been angular. It’s both jarring and captivating to look at. Though currently, his jawline appears smoother with warm chocolate wisps hugging each side. His nose remains prominent as ever, but some light contouring has removed a touch of sharpness. The hazel cosmetic contact lenses do very little to hide the intensity of his eyes. But the way L Lawliet is capable of changing what's _inside them_ is always fascinating. It's like he effortlessly discards whole galaxies that make up L Lawliet’s entire being, replacing them with new and unseen stars. Better yet, these universes he creates are always so utterly convincing.  
  
"Trevor." A smirk playing on Lawliet's lips as he points behind him. Before Trevor can look, the genius has rushed past into the next room.  
  
Glancing over, Trevor sees a crowd of people taking photographs of an exhibit on the floor. One of the avid observers steps aside to reveal the item in question. _Oh dear god_ . Trevor looks between the cup on the floor, once containing a chai tea from the Costa Coffee Boutique on Vauxhall Bridge Road they’d visited prior, and the coffee in his own hand. Perhaps some people _would_ consider a cup drunk out of by the world's greatest detective a relic.

A modern holy grail in its own right.  
  
It's then Trevor realises this is _exactly_ what the young genius had probably been inferring rather facetiously. Trevor can't help it, he bursts into hysterical laughter.

“Aho!” Lawliet pokes his head round the corner of the other room, grinning widely. “It’s rude to laugh at art, you know...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do some quick googling to make sure this was accurate. Here's some random trivia about some stuff in 1994: 
> 
> \- I was going to make L have a chai latte but Starbucks didn't come to the UK until 1998. The first shop it opened here was 1998 on King's Road. Omg you should read the article about it, the caption of the photo made me laugh: "the American Coffee invasion begins" http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/171187.stm 
> 
> \- Made more sense for L to have chai tea given that, and he'd probably be very excited about being out and about after recently closing a big case. The first Costa shop founded by the Costa brothers, which is a big chain in the UK, opened in 1978 on Vauxhall Bridge Road. It's about a 17 minute walk from that road to Tate Modern, so I like to imagine Trevor and L walking across Westminster bridge and along southbank to the gallery :3 
> 
> MORE: 
> 
> \- Here's the article that inspired it http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/news/a-pair-of-glasses-were-left-on-the-floor-at-museum-and-everyone-mistook-it-for-art-a7049551.html 
> 
> \- 'Aho' is often used in Italy as an exclamation to get someone's attention or make an inference. Thanks Fede for helping me pick the right word I was looking for. 
> 
> \- L PLS. GOD. 
> 
> btw there's more about the inventors on 'smartefact' tumblr :3 check it out if you want! I have a big list of polaroids to write coming soon.


	3. Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while, L truly believed human kindness was a myth, something that could only belong in a distant dream with his mother's laugh and her gentle touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little polaroid on L pretending to be asleep so he can hear people talking about him lmao.

**_November 3rd, 1988  
_** **_Wammy's House, Winchester, England_ **

When L sets his mind to something, he's very good at pretending. Lying and deception have always come as naturally to him as other traits of his character. For example, that time in nursery when he was four and snapped a pencil out of sheer boredom and curiosity. In fact, he had ended up snapping fifteen before he realised what he was doing, mind reeling over something so fascinating he had read. And nobody was being talkative that day, or wanted to listen. When the teacher sternly pulled him aside, little L had burst into tears and professed he couldn't have possibly done it. He said he didn't do it, played the part so convincingly, that it _became_ reality.  
  
Though these things aren't something he dabbles in often, it sure comes in handy when you're homeless and facing a Russian Winter. People didn't take kindly to children pinching their money or food. And it was the people who made it so bitterly cold during those three weeks of pure despairing solitude. L can hardly blame the snow. Snow is not sentient, it has no capacity to be so apathetic. It can't make the decision to withhold gestures of sincerity. For a while, L truly believed human kindness was a myth, something that could only belong in a distant dream with his mother's laugh and her gentle touch.  
  
That was until Quillsh Wammy wrapped that scarf around his neck and every instinct in L's gut compelled him to take the man's hand.  
  
Now he's here at Wammy's House, _pretending_ to be asleep on the sofa in one of Quillsh Wammy's invention rooms. He's been here a year and ten months, recently having turned 9. And unknowingly, something _brilliant_ is churning in the water. Little does little L know, he is a few years away from a future he couldn't have possibly imagined for himself.

“You can’t keep him a secret forever, Quillsh.”

Nancy Moore’s voice slips over him, almost as warm as the blanket he’s tucked under. He shifts slightly on the sofa, though he doesn’t dare open his eyes. He has come to learn adults have a multitude of _far more interesting_ conversations when children aren’t present, or asleep.

“I know.” L doesn’t think he’s ever heard Quillsh sound so… _concerned_ before.

"But at the moment, you _are_ doing the right thing.” she sounds soothing, like when L’s mother pulled him into her arms and stroked his hair whilst murmuring reassurances when he had a nightmare, kissing his forehead. Maybe they’re hugging right now, maybe Nancy is kissing Quillsh Wammy’s forehead. L’s not sure.

“Gengranda,” L almost has to crane his head at a peculiar angle to catch the hushed words. “That case was better left untouched.”

Something jolts inside of L. He grips the blanket tightly in his fists, breath hitching. 

“You don’t mean that!” Trevor exclaims instantly, horrified and startled by the statement. “What L did is - well it was nothing short of _extraordinary!_ Fantastic! Good lord, Quillsh, he really _is!!”_ a small smile tickles L’s lips; he snuggles a little further into the blanket. Trevor’s voice has always consoled him. Quilsh Wammy’s often did to.

“I know.” But not now. Now there’s something else there L is intrigued to unravel when the time is right.

“What Trevor is trying to say,” Nancy sounds diplomatic, clearly thinking hard about the phrasing of her words. “is that the case can be put to rest _because_ of L.” pause. "The both of you." 

The edge of the sofa dips by L’s feet; Nancy is sitting there. Gently, she traces patterns into the blanket.

“The world don’t need to know about L.”

“ _Yet._ ” Trevor offers, sounding a mixture of hopeful and excited. There’s an exasperated sigh, Quillsh or Nancy. L can’t quite tell. Until Quillsh Wammy speaks, then he deduces it was probably him.

“But _Harold-”_

Curiosity brews inside L at the name, especially the way it’s being said. Suppressed, unwanted, even a note of apprehension. Quillsh Wammy doesn’t _want_ to speak the name, for some reason. Of course, the chances of it having _everything_ to do with L are high.

“-Oh Harold can quite simply shove off and _eat a biscuit!!_ ” Nancy huffs petulantly with such intensity the whole room falls silent.

The statement immediately diffuses the tension rising up. Trevor bursts into laughter first, it’s a rapturous sound full of the purest joy. Quillsh follows swiftly after, softer and more discreetly - though L will always recognise the sound and treasure it. As Nancy joins them, L has to bite his lip hard. His shoulders shake slightly, but he figures the adults are no longer paying attention to him if they’re laughing together.

“What sort of biscuit?” Trevor manages to throw the words out before falling into laughter again. 

“You know full well it’s an _expression.”_ L smiles this time, turning in his _pretend sleep_ so his back is facing the inventors. He’s content to listen, let their voices carry him into the world of dreams. Within a few minutes, that becomes reality. Without pretending.

As he slips into sleep, L thinks he feels someone kiss his forehead, though it could just be his mother gliding wistfully through his mind.


End file.
